Fire Born
by Keiran
Summary: (On Hold) It is one of my early works, and I'm less than pleased with it now. I will try to revise, if time and muses allow. Read the prologue though. Prologue is good.


Author: Keiran

Title: Fire Born (teaser)

Pairings: 1+2 other later

Rating: R. for once I'm not confused.

Genre: Fantasy. Magic and all that jazz. Although not here yet.

Warnings: Shounen-ai. Mild bastardisation of the pilots minus Duo. I seem to have a knack for it. Someone gets burned on a stake, so character death. 

Archive: my site: the URL is on my profile page. If you want it, drop me a line. ^_^

Important Note: This fic has been inspired by Madam Hydra's 'Balancing the Scales'. There will be some similarities.

This fic has been betaed by Sundaire. ^_^ beams

****

It was a quiet night. The stars were glimmering in the black sky, having no care for what was happening in the world, yet they seemed to be the only ones not to feel anything. Most of the small forest creatures were wary to leave their holes.   
  
There was a commotion among the humans. They had been collecting wood all day, preparing for some big event. And now the event was about to start. A huge pyre had been built in the courtyard before the temple, awaiting a flame that would set it ablaze. There were only a couple of people before the building, all of them dressed in heavy and ornate robes.  
  
Someone had been led to the stake – a young man, just a boy really. His hair seemed alive in the shimmering glow of the torches the other people were carrying, the heavy auburn mass seemed to possess all of the light his eyes lacked.   
  
Those eyes, twin amethysts dimmed with tears the boy refused to allow to fall, were focused on four men in the back of the group. Everything he could have said had already been said. Now those men looked at him almost apologetically, yet their faces were grim. The tallest of the four held the shortest close to himself, while the black-haired one kept a restricting hand on the last man's shoulder.  
  
The last man was also the one whose face held the most grief.  
  
The boy was bound to the pole in the middle of the pyre. The two men holding him backed away from the platform and stood next to the oldest in assembly. The man took a blazing torch in his hand and came closer to the stake. He started to speak in a firm voice, yet there was a note of sadness and kindness in it.  
  
"What you are facing now is an end. But as one thing ends, another shall begin. Let us hope your death is swift. Let us hope your soul shall leave its confines devoid of all wrongness.   
  
"Let us meet again, after time, when all is done." The man looked straight into the eyes of the youth. "Let me hope, that one day I will be forgiven. Rest in peace, Laure."   
  
With that, the man placed his torch on the dry wood, thus giving the sign to the other men to light the pyre. It started to burn immediately; the wood was imbued with oils.  
  
The stake burned brightly. Its light and heat radiated so strongly that no one could bear to stand closer than a few meters. However, with each passing second, the four men neared the flames, gazing intently at the slender figure in the middle of the infernal dance.  
  
"Laure…" the barest of whispers could be heard coming from the blue-eyed, dark-haired man. The elfin youth seemed to hear it nevertheless, as his eyes suddenly opened. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, concentrating on not letting the pain get to him. He knew, however, that with a fire that strong, it was all going to be over soon.   
  
But there are some things that man cannot fight against for too long. Pain is one of them. And so, as his pale skin burned, the violet-eyed man let out a cry, so hurt and sorrowful, that none of the people remained unaffected.  
  
The only consolation for those watching was that with that moan he inhaled enough heavy, incense filled smoke to be rendered partially unconscious. The suffering and weariness did the rest. There was no way to stop the fire then. The youth's body burned for a long hours in the unbearable heat.  
  
Afterwards, the ashes were carefully collected and divided: part of them thrown into the ocean, part scattered with the winds and part buried.  
  
The burial was performed last. The blue eyed man had personally prepared a resting place for the remains of his lost love.  
  
"This had to be done Hith," the black haired man said firmly. He was not able to get the sadness out of his voice. The other dark-haired man sighed in response.  
  
"I know. I brought him to the council, remember?"  
  
"We know," the blonde said swallowing painfully. "I know."  
  
"Don't cry Quen," the tallest of the four said. "It's just like Naur said – it had to be done."  
  
"I know that! I'm not a baby Alda! It's just… I can't keep thinking it was unfair of us. He burned, that means he can never come back." His blue eyes were fixed on the bush Hith was carefully planting over the ashes.  
  
"It is better this way. Laure shouldn't come back, ever." There was a note of finality in Naur's voice. Albeit reluctantly, the others agreed.  
  
But the guilt followed them, thorough their present and future lives.

**End**

About the names: they all come from the Elvish tongue from 'Lord of the Rings'. I think it is clear who is who, but just for the record:

Hith (meaning 'mist') Heero  
Laure (meaning 'gold' as in light and colour, not metal) Duo  
Alda (meaning 'tree') Trowa  
Quen (meaning 'speak') Quatre  
Naur (meaning 'fire') Wufei


End file.
